Nusquam Ad Abscondere
by Intervigilium
Summary: A killer with a gift for theatricality is out there; Death Eaters should be worried. AU (Voldemort wins the war), OCs inside.
1. A Cold Assessment

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own the HP universe.

Bellatrix narrows her eyes as she enters the derelict cathedral; broken, rotten benches and one collapsed column are the reminders of how much time passed since someone took their prayers to this isolated corner of the world.

She's not alone. A cloaked figure examines the newest addition to the altar: a rudimentary cross, shoved unceremoniously to the floor, the remains of Fenrir Greyback pinned to it. _More like spiked_, she observes, silvery spears all over what's left of the werewolf's torso. Her steps alert the inspector, and as he turns around, Bellatrix does not bother disguising her disappointment.

"Hale."

"Lestrange," he answers, barely registering the famous Bellatrix, self-proclaimed right hand of The Dark Lord.

Darius Hale. More of a scholar than a Death Eater, but a true savant when it comes to death and its effects. The closest thing to a coroner they have, if you ask her.

Not that this makes Bellatrix acknowledge him any more than she needs to. The man is a bore, and a good one at that. _Let's get this over with._

"Ol' Grey. Never thought I'd live to see this day." She takes measured steps down the aisle, closer to the grisly murder scene.

"I don't expect he did, either. Part of his 'pack' was beheaded and dismembered about three kilometers to the north, and he shows serious signs of struggle. He put up quite a fight … **at first**."

They look at the werewolf's horrified stare, then back at each other, and Hale pierces through her nonchalant posture. They are both thinking the same thing.

_It's no simple task to break Fenrir Greyback's will._

"Macnair was not pretty when we found him, either, but the _modus_ is all different."

"Same killer, though."

"You can't be sure of that," she challenges.

Hale snorts. "By all means, hide in your shell of denial if you must." He raises a hand before she can snarl an insult or reach for her wand. _So predictably feisty._

"Different wounds don't change the overall signatures." He points to a specific stab mark. "He twists the blade here to get him into shock, probably to take the body somewhere else for the torture. **Same as Macnair**."

"Of course, Fenrir's a bit more than a man when it comes to stamina, so he fights through the pain." Hale moves to the side of the cross, eying the neck. "The pressure marks indicate strangling. The sheer amount of pressure applied … and it was not magical, mind you."

"What, someone actually _choked_ Fenrir Greyback?" she laughs. "You're delusional."

"Not some_one_; some_thing_. A pet, probably a creature the assassin controls." He never looks back at Bellatrix and her insults, which makes her even more agitated. "See the sucked-in tissue patterns around the neck? Probably tentacles, or something resembling tentacles." He takes a step back, eyes on the floor, following an invisible trail. "The _slightest_ extra pressure would've snapped his neck right there and then. Careful, but deliberate use of force. Fenrir passes out, is probably heavily bound, and brought here."

"Would you like some time alone, Hale? Sounds like you have a hard on for this freak."

"I admire efficiency," he admits, shrugging. "He plans, and executes. Once the victim is awake, he indulges in some real carnage."

Hale points at the cross again. The arms are nailed by the wrists, but dangling loose from the body, having been cut clean at shoulder length.

"Whatever cut through his flesh and bone also cauterized the wound instantly. Could be magic flame, or tempered steel. **Just like Macnair**."

"Macnair had his family jewels cut and put in his …"

"I don't need the reminder. Just pointing out that the weapon of choice is probably the same."

Bellatrix gives him a nasty smirk.

"Afraid you're next in line, Hale?"

What surprises her is that the smirk returns to her, and then disappears as Darius starts to walk away from the corpse.

"No reason why I should be, at least for now. I'm not out there burning houses to the ground just to see people squirming inside."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He does not pause, and she aims her wand to his back. "Hale, it's not like you need to force my hand here," she says, almost in a sing-song voice.

He sighs, turning around. Hale shoves a hand down one of his cloak's pockets and retrieves a small pouch wrapped with thin leather, throwing it at Bella's feet.

"Might as well take this to The Dark Lord yourself." Hale leans against the partial column Bellatrix avoided on her way in, his hands casually back in his pockets.

"Even if all other evidence pointed elsewhere, there was still this. Same content as the previous one. A small pile of ash, a piece of ruby carved as a rune of sorts, and the same inscription written with the victim's blood in old parchment." The Death Eater looks to the ceiling. "_Nusquam Ad Abscondere_."

"Nowhere to hide", she murmurs, still loud enough to be heard. Hale nods.

"What about the rune?" she demands.

"Like I told you before, it's _similar_ to some patterns I've only _heard _about. Not anything you'll come across in Ancient Runes, certainly not in any book that Hogwarts ever offered."

"So how come you're the expert, then?"

"I never claimed to be. I'm just telling you what I know. It closely resembles symbols associated with retribution. The _worst kind_ of retribution."

She sees it in his eyes, even from this distance. He knows _more_.

"What are you not telling me, Hale?"

He considers stalling, but chooses not to.

"I'm telling you everything that I observed and the information I gathered. What I keep to myself are speculations, and speculations alone."

"Amuse me," she quips, wrapping the pouch with a little more force than she means to. "We're obviously being targeted by a mad man. Lunatic theories should apply."

"There's method even in madness, Bellatrix. This is not someone acting in the heat of the moment." He stands properly. "Marking _Death Eaters_ for execution? A lunatic, perhaps, but certainly not an idiot. And take a look around you, Bellatrix. He – or she - is not only **succeeding**; whoever this is … is enjoying every second of it."

Darius contemplates the seasoned (and now silent) Death Eater before him.

"Speak your mind!" she orders, annoyed.

"The universe keeps itself balanced, Bellatrix. Its many currents and dimensions, all connected and flowing. It's how it's always been; it's how it always will be. The Dark Lord bested Dumbledore. Killed Harry Potter. Defeated everyone that stood in his way. He tilted the scales to his favor, for sure …"

"… But no king rules _forever_. Balance makes sure of that. Perhaps it's what we're witnessing here."

He starts to walk towards the door. The witch now has her wand pointed directly at his back, her blood running with rage from this ... this _stray_'s lack of belief in **HER** master!

"You insolent …"

"Kill me, if you so desire, Bellatrix." He reaches for the doorknob. "Merlin knows I wait for the moment where I can continue my studies on the other side. It will not stop this hunter, though. If anything, perhaps you'll just speed up his agenda." He turns his head to face her with a grim smile. It's one of the few times Darius scares her. Slowly, very slowly, she lowers her wand back.

"I didn't think so," he says, almost sadly. Hale's crossing the threshold when he hears her voice again.

"Who are we fighting here, Hale? _What_ are we fighting?"

The Death Eater pauses again, knowing she finally chose the right question.

"We have used dark magics for so long to secure our rule over ordinary men, Bellatrix." He grabs the cowl smoothly to cover his head. "Crossed one too many lines, took - perhaps - one step too far. Did you ever stop to consider what would happen if the dark we so desperately wish to wield ever decided to rebel? What would it _send_ our way?"

She just stares blankly. He looks at her one last time, face now hidden in shadows.

"Perhaps … we'll finally know the answer to that."

Darius disapparates, leaving Bellatrix to her thoughts ...

... And, in the distant borders of the northern forest, a shadowy form coils once it's done eavesdropping on the Death Eaters. It patiently sharpens a large, gleaming axe.

"Find the answer, you shall, old man." he smiles. "But don't you worry, scholar of Death. Mrs. Lestrange is higher up in my list. And, oh," he adds, apparently, speaking to his axe, ideas dancing in his mind, "we are going to take our sweet time with her, aren't we?"

**AUTHOR NOTES**: This was heavily inspired by two talented authors, their stories and characters, mainly these:

**lightblue-Nymphadora**: s/9618393/1/Hopeless

**HeadlessHuntsman**: s/8866359/1/Harry-Potter-and-The-Were-Squid

Also, because of this story, a skeleton will live(?) to sleep another day.


	2. Hushed Advices

"Retribution, you say."

"_Closely resembles_ were his exact words, My Lord."

"_Fascinating_," he muses, as master and pupil approach the dimly lit main staircase of _Muromtzevo _Mansion. Voldemort caresses the carved, runic ruby in his hand. From Bellatrix's expression, 'fascinating' isn't the word she'd use to describe the object, but her master's calm soothes her temper.

"Has he mentioned anything else?"

"Nothing of note," she answers, clearly disappointed. The time she spends with her … _The_ Dark Lord should not be filled with Darius Hale's opinions. "I apologize, My Lord. What I mean is that …"

"… Other than the same evidences found with Macnair, he had nothing of substance to add. You keep your mind _very_ open around me, Bellatrix."

"I have no secrets to you, My Lord. Unlike _some_ I could name."

Voldemort almost laughs. "Hale continues to displease you, I gather."

"I do not trust him!" she's quick to respond, clearly distraught. "He's not devoted to your cause, My Lord!"

"Do you mean his lack of a _Mark_? Indeed, he has none, nor have I ever required him to be branded." Bella misses a step, surprised with this information, only to quickly catch up with her master. He barely registers her confusion.

"Darius Hale has a very particular kind of expertise that is useful to me from time to time, Bellatrix. He's a sufficiently accomplished wizard and duelist, but lacks certain … _qualities_ … that would make him a true Death Eater. But he never hides, and does not challenge my summons.

Hale understands the ways of this world well enough to assist me without hesitating, and _this_ is how we are associated. His being referred to as a Death Eater has much more to do with speculation of those that know he trades in occult arts than anything else; do note, Bellatrix that he _never_ presents himself as one."

The Death Eater bites her lip in eagerness to ask what those lacking qualities are, realizing now just how little she actually knows about the grim scholar. But she's far too lost in the condescending half-smile she receives from her master to think of anything else.

"I'm sure he's out doing more research on his own," Voldemort says, opening the door to his chambers, certain that delegating this nuisance to Hale was a better use of his own time. "And, soon enough, we'll have all the information we need to deal with this matter permanently. Fear not, Bellatrix; this lost soul, no matter how hidden, will find that attacking my disciples is a very hazardous way to spend one's days. Lord Voldemort never forgets."

Voldemort's absolute confidence radiates through her body and Bellatrix relaxes. She's his best weapon, his truest servant. _My Dark Lord will never allow harm to find me_. Her constant annoyance with Hale and the growing concern for the assassin's possible threat evaporate completely from her mind.

The doors close behind Voldemort, and he ignores the longing in Bellatrix's eyes. She, in turn, makes her way back through the corridor, almost running over a masked companion (_from the jumpy attitude, probably Rowle_).

"My apologies, Mrs. Lestrange!" _Rowle, indeed._

"Watch your step, Thorfinn. And summon my husband, will you? Tell him I'll be waiting in our room." _Perhaps he can amuse me for a while_ …

"Hum, my apologies Mrs. Lestrange, but your husband left about two hours ago."

She curses silently. "Where could he possibly go?"

"I, I don't know."

_Of course you don't._ Bellatrix storms away, leaving the dumbfounded Death Eater behind. "No matter."

_I'll make him 'pay' for this absence later._

* * *

"The usual, Monk?"

The hooded figure smiles, even though the shadows conceal it. "It's been a long time since someone called me that."

"It's been a long time since you showed up, Darius," the barkeep quips, resting a glass with pristine scotch over the counter.

Hale pulls the hood and cowl down, revealing a tired, but satisfied face. "Indeed it has, Dan. But that's for your own benefit, you know that."

Both men glance left, where three suspicious-looking men are now trading whispers over the newcomer. They suddenly stop when discovered, looking guilty and resuming their drinks nervously. Travis lets out a husky laugh, pouring a dose for himself.

"True. As pleasant as your company is, you _do_ scare half my clientele away just by walking through the door. And I serve no saints 'round these parts."

"You'd expect a pub named _The Coffin House_ to be teeming with joyful personalities." Hale raises his glass. "Here's to bad company and good business, then," he says with a smirk, downing the drink. "If it's any consolation, I promise I won't take too much of your time."

"Straight to business today, are we?"

"If I wanted educated guesses I'd be at The Leaky Cauldron. When I want _facts_ – or the closest thing to them - I come to you."

Daniel, the barkeep, reads Hale's tone and nods, lowering his tone.

"What's the name?"

"Lyall Lupin," is all that comes out of Hale's lips.

The other man frowns, resting his towel over the shoulder. "The wanker that got his son a free lycanthropy ticket?"

"I'm sure he'd prefer to be remembered by his accomplishments as a wizard, but yes; the very same."

"Honest man, as far as I know. Far from the usual types you're looking for."

"These days, Daniel, 'honest' means you should be hiding even more than the crooks."

"Too true. What's your business with him?"

Darius taps his fingers against the glass. "I have some _news_ I reckon he'll receive well. And I need to pick his brain about something else."

"Pick his brain. You mean that **literally**?"

"Dan …"

The husky laugh breaks the tension. "Hey, it's always nice to know for sure, when it comes to you."

"Hilarious."

"Don't worry. Come back tomorrow night, I'll see what I can dig up for you."

Darius places two large golden coins on the counter and stands. "Much appreciated, old friend."

**AUTHOR NOTES**: So, turns out this madness is going forward. Be gentle with it.


End file.
